She was losing days. Folding into spaces small enough to fit between two hands, she was passing through hours, never quite knowing how she would climb back out. She forgot herself, forgot how ankles and knees and hips were supposed to fit between bones, and how she was supposed to move any of them. If she moved, it was just her eyes, just her hands, just her idling fingers.
One page turn, and then another, and she was losing her days in the space pressed between thin paper, her body forgotten in the corner of the window. And finding some other lifetimes.